Chapter 5: Everything Goes to Pieces

"Today's my two-month anniversary," I told Charlie as he brought me my jelly doughnut (the only kind I eat since Puddin told me the story of the time he downed a Gotham cop with one - plus I just think they're prettier than the average doughnut), and he smiled.

"That's all? It honestly seems like you've been here forever."

"Not to me, it hasn't. They're finally letting me deal with the 'dangerous' criminals. I have a session with Victor Zsaz today."

He whistled.

"Zsaz? Be on your guard, Doc - the last shrink he met with got stabbed in the leg with a homemade knife. Then, that's the risk you take, being alone with a self-mutiliating serial killer. They'll probably have some orderlies in there with you. Therapist-client confidentiality doesn't really exist at Arkham, especially in his case. You be careful, Doc," he added, blushing.

"Thanks, Charlie."

The session with Zsaz went fairly well (as well as talking to a lunatic who makes a living out of killing people and scarring himself after ever murder - kind of like tally marks). I'd never talked to him when I was previously interning at Arkham, and this being our first ever session together had produced additional stress. But he'd taken to me, somehow, either because I was a fellow criminal mind (sort of), or (this was more likely) because I was pretty (I heard from the Penguin that the male inmates had declared me "Arkham's Sexiest Shrink" and was flattered.) I was walking him back to his cell, flanked by orderlies, when he called out to me.

"You know I'm gonna get you too, someday, Quinn. I have a special place saved for you. Would you like to see it?" I was still writing death threats toward me down on my clipboard, so I didn't see his pants drop until the bigger orderly jabbed a needle full of Arkham's most powerful sedative, the one Starfleet Chemicals made specially for the asylum and its hardcore patients (Puddin' always called it Loonytunes Beddy-Bye Juice) into his arm, and the half-naked man sank to the floor with a crack.

"Is he okay?" I was bending down over him (he'd hit his head pretty hard, it sounded like) to check for bruises when I heard footsteps and looked up.

"Harley?"

Puddin'! I suddenly realized how wrong the scene looked, Zsaz pantsless, me almost on top of him. Whatever Mr. J was thinking, I deserved it. I saw an expression on his face I'd never seen before. He looked betrayed.